


The Outline

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your taste in music leaves a lot to be desired,” Derek says dryly, still skimming over The Outline. (Stiles has capitalized it in his head, because if it’s capitalized, then it means Doom, which is, technically, exactly what it means.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Outline

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful, wonderful beta [mirajanescarlet](http://mirajanescarlet.tumblr.com/) (that's her tumblr!) who gave me the prompt for this story: Stiles and Derek on a road trip to go see colleges and even though it's Stiles who has all the interviews at the colleges, Derek is the one who's nervous? for Sterek week, which is what this fic is for. And for editing it, for telling me I wasn't steering off the path of the prompt, and for encouraging me to finish. :)
> 
> Also, I actually tried to veer away from angst this time, guys! Feedback is really appreciated. 
> 
> If anyone is interested, you can always pop over to my [my tumblr](http://korynnvictoria.tumblr.com/) and say hello

“Here.” 

A travel mug and a lunch bag are shoved into Stiles’ hands, as his dad scratches at the back of his neck and tries not to look sheepish, staring down at his feet. Stiles opens the bag and peers into it, blinking. There’s half a dozen donuts hastily thrown in, and Stiles feels his stomach growl insistently. “Wow,” he says, “thanks dad.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you,” his dad replies. He looks worried, glancing back to the idling car, “But you’ll be safe, right? You’ll focus on finding a college that suits you, no matter how far it is from here?”

“Dad,” Stiles says, reaching out and placing a hand on his dad’s shoulder, “I got this. And if I don’t, I’m pretty sure Derek does.” 

Stiles doesn’t think it’s fair that his father only stops looking worried when Stiles once again mentions that Derek has this covered. 

==

Stiles has been planning this since pretty much the beginning of junior year. A _road trip_ is an important factor in a to-be-college-student’s life, he thinks, and Stiles wants to find the best college. He’s looked at hundreds of websites, brochures, and fliers. He’s watched commercials, talked on the phone, and finally, sent out applications to his select colleges. 

The entire time he was doing it, Derek was sitting right there next to him, silently judging, criticizing when he saw flaws maybe Stiles didn’t, and all in all _helping_ Stiles, though Stiles uses that term loosely. Sometimes he’ll say ‘bossing Stiles into choosing this school,’ or ‘harassing Stiles into dropping that school’ – it just depends on his mood. Stiles knows that Derek wants him to go somewhere that counts, somewhere that will make an impression on people. 

When he asks Derek about it one time, Derek gets quiet for a long time before he says, “You’re smart. I don’t want anybody to take that away from you. I want them to _know_. It’s important that you go to college somewhere really great, just like you always wanted to.” 

And really, something inside Stiles’ heart swells a little at that. He’s been planning on college since he was seven years old and saw his mother’s old college yearbook, and she sat him down and explained just what going off to another bigger, better school after high school meant. He wants to make his mom proud. He wants to make his dad proud. He wants to make _Derek_ proud. 

He’s going to.

==

Derek has an _outline._

“What is that?” Stiles asks, his mouthful of donut dropping open. Derek gives him a disgusted glare and points his finger at him. 

“Close your mouth, you’re not getting crumbs all through the car already.”

“It’s _my_ car,” Stiles protests, but closes his mouth anyways, and watches as Derek opens the folder filled with a typed up outline, Mapquest directions, and several colorful college brochures. Stiles gets a little panicked when he sees just how organized Derek is, because an organized Derek is a serious Derek, and Stiles was planning to have _some_ fun on this trip. “Derek, seriously,” he says after he swallows his donut, “what is that?”

“It’s an outline, Stiles; as I’m assuming you’ve already guessed,” Derek says to him like Stiles is eight and not eighteen. 

“That is not okay!” Stiles shouts, “This is not okay! This trip is supposed to be… free! I’m supposed to be _free._ I’m supposed to be driving down the interstate singing ‘Summer of ’69,’ and ‘Free Bird,’ and ‘Boys of Summer;’ good driving music!”

“Your taste in music leaves a lot to be desired,” Derek says dryly, still skimming over The Outline. (Stiles has capitalized it in his head, because if it’s capitalized, then it means Doom, which is, technically, exactly what it means.) 

Stiles is offended on classic rock’s behalf. “Shut up!” he hisses, “My taste in music is exactly perfect! It’s great road trip music, even.”

Derek glances over at him. “This isn’t a road trip, Stiles.”

Stiles gets a little confused, then, because he’s pretty sure that’s exactly what it is. They are driving. To different cities, and even one different state, to choose a college for Stiles to attend. They’re sleeping in cheap motels, they’re eating greasy fast food, and they’re spending at least five hours in the car a day most days. “It’s not?” he asks blankly. 

“This is a mission,” Derek says solemnly, “to find the perfect school.” And he turns the engine over, tossing the folder with The Outline into Stiles lap. “You get to make sure you’re reading everything to me, so we stay on schedule,” Derek says, “don’t screw up.” 

Stiles needs comfort now, because he’s full-on panicking. Derek clearly isn’t going to offer it, so he eats the rest of the donuts his dad packed, and hisses at Derek when he tries to grab one for himself. 

==

“It’s not on The Outline,” Derek growls. 

“Oh, you know what else isn’t on The Outline,” Stiles says, his voice rising to a new pitch in the midst of his hysterics, his hands flailing around in a gesture he isn’t quite sure of. “ _Pissing my pants_ because you won’t stop at a gas station, Derek! I really have to go.”

“You shouldn’t have had so much to drink when we stopped for lunch,” Derek says, and he’s still growling. Usually Stiles kind of finds it attractive in a way that he won’t admit to anyone else, but his bladder is so full he can’t focus on anything but trying not to piss his pants, or when the next gas station or rest stop will appear. 

“If you don’t stop,” Stiles threatens, “I’m going to punch you. In the throat. And I’m going to make _sure_ it’s painful. It might not be as threatening as teeth, sure, but right now, I’m in so much pain, I will make sure you feel it, Derek.” 

Derek glances over at him. Stiles is giving him his best glare, the I-don’t- _care_ -if-you’re-the-Alpha-I’ll-do-what-I-want glare, and Derek knows that when he pulls it out, Stiles means serious business. A sign for a gas station appears, claiming brightly that it’s just ‘One mile ahead, take the left exit!’ Derek gets in the left lane. Stiles breathes out a sigh of relief and rests his head against the window. 

When he walks out of the gas station twenty minutes later, arms loaded with snacks, Derek is rearranging things with a red pen on The Outline. Stiles throws his purchases in the backseat, and glances over Derek’s shoulder. “What are you doing?” he asks him. 

Derek arches a brow, chewing on his bottom lip, “Rearranging things, obviously.”

“No, I know that,” Stiles says, poking Derek in the ribs. Derek growls softly. _“Why?”_

“Because you’ve put us behind,” Derek says, and caps the red pen, shutting the folder swiftly. Stiles looks at him, mouth open.

“I’ve put us behind?” he asks, feeling the urge to yell building up deep inside him, “I stopped to _piss_ Derek, not to visit someone! I bought a few snacks; I didn’t stand in the store and talk to the cashier for three hours. We’re maybe _twenty_ minutes behind, not a day! Have you lost your mind?”

Derek puts the Jeep in gear and pulls out of the parking lot. “We can’t afford to be behind,” he rumbles, watching the road. Stiles inhales deeply, and then exhales, trying to search for patience. He is not Derek, he reminds himself, he _has_ patience. He will utilize it here. 

“We are not behind,” he says slowly. “I don’t have to be in San Francisco until tomorrow, Derek.” 

Derek doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching the road. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and opens The Outline, letting the brochure for SFSU fall into his lap. “So, this is…”

“Number four on our list,” Derek reminds him. 

“Right, because –”

“You want somewhere with the Sciences,” Derek says. Stiles chews on his bottom lip, fingering the pages of the brochure for a long time. He looks out the window, and stays silent, even though he has words in the back of his throat that he desperately wants to say. He just doesn’t know how. 

Finally he says, “Derek what if – ” 

“I really think Caltech is going to be blown away by you,” Derek says softly, reaching over and taking Stiles’ hand. He glances over and smiles. Stiles tries to keep his heartbeat steady, so Derek can’t tell that he’s nervous. Stiles doesn’t tell him that he sort of hates the idea of Caltech, because it’s furthest away from Beacon Hills, from his dad, from the pack. From _Derek._

He doesn’t tell him, because Derek doesn’t want to hear it. 

Instead, he smiles back, and grips Derek’s hand tighter. He’s got this road trip and summer left before he has to go to school anyways, he can make it last.

==

“It’s a really nice campus,” Stiles says finally. Derek studies the campus grounds once again, the people milling around, and the litter on the ground. He gives a disgusted sniff. 

“You could do better,” he says, gripping Stiles wrist firmly to pull him back when a college senior comes rolling down the sidewalk on a skateboard with no regard for plain old pedestrians. Derek growls deep in the back of his throat. Stiles sighs. 

“It’s a nice campus, Derek,” he insists, “and no one has been mean, and everyone has been super accommodating. Plus they have science majors here.”

“But they’re not _known_ for their science programs,” Derek says as they start walking again. 

Stiles shrugs, “They don’t have to be known for them. They just have to have one, and I’ll be happy. Plus, it’s closer to home – that’s always good. I can come home for the weekends a couple times, it’ll be easier to get there on breaks, or if anything happens.”

Derek squints at him. “If anything happens,” he says finally. “Stiles, you’re not –” 

“Look, an ice cream stand! This place has an _ice cream stand,_ ” Stiles says joyfully, interrupting to point it out, “Points in the Positives column for the ice cream stand, Derek! Definite points.” 

“No points,” Derek says firmly, gripping the red pen and the folder tightly, away from Stiles’ grabbing hands. 

Stiles pouts, “That’s my list too,” he protests, “I say points for the ice cream stand.”

“We already _gave_ them points for their food services,” Derek tells him, holding the folder over his head so Stiles can’t reach it, and backing away from him. Stiles yelps as he stumbles a little, and glares at Derek. 

“That was before we knew about this – they deserve at least a few more for the –” 

“If you say _ice cream stand_ one more time, I will tape your mouth shut for the entire drive to the next school,” Derek threatens, glaring at him so hard Stiles thinks he might have an aneurysm. 

Stiles sighs. “Can we at least get some?” Derek lowers the folder and hesitates for a second, before nodding. 

It’s pretty good ice cream, though, so in the end, with Stiles leaning over his shoulder, Derek marks another point in the Positives column for SFSU with a smirk twitching at the corners of his lips, and a smear of ice cream across his cheek that Stiles shamelessly licks off. Derek doesn’t even try to hide his smile then, just leans in and steals a bite of Stiles’ ice cream cone.

==

“This place,” Stiles announces, “was named Bates Motel in its previous life.”

“Do not,” Derek says. 

“It was,” Stiles insists. “I’m going to have a panic attack in the shower, thinking that someone is going to come in and tear the curtain open and start stabbing me.”

Derek huffs. “Don’t worry; I’ll get your back through the door, too.” 

“And there will be all this blood, and screaming, and crying, and you won’t know what to do with yourself. What will you tell my father? Murdered by a psycho, that’s what you’ll have to tell him. Because you have poor choice in motels.”

 _“Stiles,”_ Derek growls warningly, dropping the bags on the floor as Stiles finally unlocks the door. With an _old fashioned key_. Not a key card. A plain old _key._ This does not bode well for his life, he thinks gloomily, studying the room. 

“Oh, man,” Stiles says. 

“It said old-time charming on the website,” Derek insists.

“Sure,” Stiles replies, “If the roaches are old.” 

Derek picks up the bags again. Stiles blinks. “Wait, where are you going?” he asks, hurrying after him, “don’t just leave me there! I’ll get eaten by the roaches, or stabbed, or bitten by fleas – who _knows_.”

“Shut up, Stiles.” 

They end up at a Super 8, which is at least not visibly terrifying, and a little cleaner, Stiles thinks. The only sad part is they couldn’t get a refund on Bates Motel 2.0, but if Stiles gets to keep his life, he’s not going to complain too much. He steals the shower first after lugging his own bag up to the room this time, enjoying finally getting to unwind for the day. 

_Three more schools to go_ , he thinks, staring at the shower wall as the water streams down on him. Three more, and then they can go back home, Stiles can go back to school, finish up, and graduate. He can spend his summer having lazy Sundays with his dad. Playing pickup games of lacrosse with Scott, Jackson, Isaac, and Danny. Having huge pack family dinners, watching movies, and falling asleep next to Derek, with a smile on his face. 

Summers spent with Derek are the best. Derek makes sure they’re memorable, makes sure he’s the first thing Stiles sees when he wakes up in the morning, and the last thing he sees when he falls asleep at night. He makes sure Stiles is healthy and tanned, but not burnt; he laughs a little easier, and smiles a little lighter. His eyes aren’t so dim. Summers bring them all out of their shells, and Stiles loves it. 

When he steps out of the shower and back into the bedroom, Derek is looking at The Outline again. “What _now_?” Stiles demands. 

Derek doesn’t even look up from The Outline, just arches a brow at it like it has Stiles’ face on it, and says flatly, “You’re naked.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says, looking down and then back up at Derek, “I was in the shower.”

“I’m pretty sure they put towels in the bathroom.”

“I dried off already,” Stiles shrugs, inching closer to the bed. 

“No,” Derek says. 

“Derek,” he wines, climbing onto the mattress. Derek shakes his head, but Stiles can tell he’s trying not to smile, “Come on.”

“We have to be up early tomorrow, and every time we have sex, you need a twelve hour recovery period.”

“That’s not true,” Stiles insists, “what about the time we did it in the backseat of your car and then went to dinner with Allison and Scott and her dad?”

“You _fell asleep_ in the pudding,” Derek replies.

Stiles looks at him seriously for a moment, to see if he’s joking. Derek doesn’t even blink. “I don’t remember that,” he admits. 

“It wasn’t a _pleasant_ dinner,” Derek tells him, writing something on The Outline with the red pen. “Also, ‘did it’ Stiles, really? Are you thirteen?”

Stiles pouts, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms, watching as Derek pulls out the brochure to Caltech. “Put some briefs on,” Derek tells him, “if you’re going to keep pouting.”

“I am going to pout, until you decide you’re done marking up The Outline, and you want to have sex with _me_.”

Derek rolls his eyes, and flips through the Caltech brochure for what has to be the thousandth time. Stiles doesn’t know how he doesn’t have it memorized already, because even Stiles knows it by heart by now. The school’s colors, the headline, the bright and cheery, ‘Welcome to Caltech,’ in bold font printed across the front, Stiles knows it all. 

Derek leans back against the headboard, too, and Stiles takes it for the opportunity it is, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek runs his fingers over the lettering on the pamphlet and smiles faintly. “They’re going to love you,” he insists. Stiles kisses his shoulder.

“Like you do?” he asks in a small voice, glancing up. Derek looks down at him, still smiling.

“Not nearly as much as I do,” he says, and leans down and kisses him, soft and sweet, just the way Stiles likes when he’s pleasantly tired, seeking out comfort. 

==

“No,” Stiles says, and turns back around at the second school. Derek is staring in horror at all the frat houses lined up, and the beer cans littering everywhere. Stiles doesn’t even think twice about yanking on his arm and pulling him out of there as fast as he can.

He calls and cancels the interview. “No,” he says again, furiously marking up the Negatives column. Derek just pulls out as fast as he can. 

“This place _lied_ in their brochure,” Derek sounds personally offended.

“Well,” Stiles says, flipping through it again. “They promised they were ‘people-friendly.’” 

“I’m calling them and telling them they need to change it,” Derek insists, “Where’s the number? Give me the number.” Stiles shakes his head. 

“You’re driving, Derek; no. We got out of there, okay? Man,” he sighs, “I don’t know how that beat out San Francisco though.” 

Derek shoots him another look. “You’re not going to a party school,” he tells him insistently. Stiles blinks at him.

“Excuse me? Excuse me, what? First of all, since when have you known me to party? Second of all, I _told_ you I hated it, didn’t I?” Stiles demands, feeling a little furious. 

Derek sighs. “Stiles I –” 

“And I’m sorry, I feel really offended that you even thought I’d want to attend that school in the first place, thank you very much,” Stiles says, “Furthermore, the fact that I got the _hell out of there_ before even attending the interview should have told you a little something, don’t you think?”

“ _Stiles,_ ” Derek shouts, and Stiles pauses, mouth open, about to say more. “It just freaked me out,” Derek says, shifting a little in the driver’s seat, “seeing you there, among all those guys, drinking and… touching and stuff. It freaked me out.”

“Okay,” Stiles says finally. “Okay.”

==

“How’s it going?” his dad asks over the phone. 

Stiles glances down at The Outline sitting on his lap, the bolded _Caltech!!_ highlighted, just one school away, and he sighs. “It’s going,” he says. “The last school was a no go. Didn’t even make the interview.”

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s too far anyways,” Stiles shrugs. There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment. 

“Stiles, you’re not purposely picking somewhere close to home, are you?” his father’s voice comes across the line slowly, thoughtfully. “Not… for me, and Derek? And Scott and Allison?” 

Stiles’ scoffs, tries to ignore the way his heart picks up speed at the implication, and grips the Caltech pamphlet tighter. He knows where Derek wants him to go, where his dad wants him to go. He even knows that he kind of wants to go there himself. He just doesn’t want to admit it. He’s fearful of what will happen to his dad while he’s gone, he’s fearful of what will happen to the pack without him there to rationalize their plans, and he’s fearful of what will happen to him and Derek. 

He’s afraid, he thinks, and that’s okay. He just can’t let it influence his decision. 

“No,” he finally says to his dad, “Derek wouldn’t let me pick somewhere close to home just to be close even if I wanted,” he confesses, and his dad laughs. 

“Derek’s a good kid,” he says, and Stiles realizes just how fond of Derek his dad has grown in the last year and a half. Derek protects Stiles, makes sure he focuses on his schoolwork, and wants him to succeed in life – all the things that Dad wants, but more, too. 

“I’m going to choose right, dad,” Stiles says, soft and determined. His dad chuckles and it sounds warm and loving over the phone line. 

“I know you are, son. I know you are.”

==

“No, Derek. I want to stop here,” Stiles insists, arms crossed. 

“We’re not even halfway.” It’s a growl, a hint of a threat, and Derek’s fingers are gripping the steering wheel tightly, like he’s seeking his patience. Stiles hisses angrily. 

“We’ll have plenty of time, I don’t have to be at the next school until late afternoon tomorrow!” he shouts. When Derek pulls up at a red light, he turns to stare at Stiles. 

“It’s not in The –” 

“Don’t even say it,” Stiles snarls, holding up the folder and waving it in Derek’s face, “If you say ‘It’s not in The Outline,’ one more time this week, I’m going to get out of this car _while it’s moving_ and walk back home. I swear.” 

Derek’s lips turn up in a snarl, reaching out and grabbing the folder from Stiles. “You’re _crinkling_ it,” he says, vaguely horrified sounding. Stiles inhales sharply. 

“That is – that is it,” he says, reaching a hand around and trying to open his door. It’s locked, so he has to fumble with the lock, and by the time he gets it unlocked, the light has turned green. “Don’t move this car,” he warns Derek, “If you move this car, I’m getting out anyways.”

“Stiles, you’re being an idiot,” Derek says. 

“I am not! I’m being a – a normal person, who wants to go to sleep in a bed; maybe after having some really great sex with his boyfriend in a hotel room, as loud as possible, so we annoy the next door neighbors. I’m being a person who is _exhausted_ and _tired_ of thinking about schools, who wants to get some halfway decent food, and not have to follow a schedule! I don’t do well with schedules, Derek, they make me panicky!” Stiles bellows, and once he’s finished, there’s dead silence in the car for two entire minutes, thick and suffocating between the two of them. 

Derek throws the car into gear finally, still gripping The Outline folder, and turns right to go to the hotel just off the interstate. Stiles breathes out, and the tension in his neck feels overwhelming. He reaches back and rubs at it, opening his mouth, “So I might have overdone it a little,” he confesses, “Small enclosed spaces… I get –” 

“Childish?” Derek interrupts flatly, and Stiles glances over at him from under his lashes. 

“Maybe,” he says in a small voice, feeling pathetic. 

They check in and bring their things upstairs, and Stiles sits and watches television while Derek showers. He’s gripping the Caltech pamphlet in his hands when Derek comes out, a white, fluffy towel wrapped around his waist, running fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, “I’m really, really sorry. But this whole trip I’ve been really confused and nervous and I don’t know how to – what to – I’m just confused,” Stiles flails a hand.

“Stiles,” Derek says seriously, sitting down on the mattress next to him, “Are you having a college identity crisis?”

Stiles gaps at him, because he thinks Derek maybe just made a joke, which comes few and far between. “No,” he says adamantly, “no, I am not having a _college identity crisis,_ oh, my God,” he breathes. Derek smiles tentatively at him. 

“We can… talk about it,” he says uncertainly. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Stiles says, “truly. Caltech is a dream of mine, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want to leave home.”

Derek’s eyes harden. “You’re not going to community college, Stiles. We talked about this.”

“You talked,” Stiles says, “I listened. What’s wrong with –” 

He’s cut off by Derek growling and standing up, pacing back and forth. “Because it’s not what you’ve worked for - what _we’ve_ worked for. You don’t want community college, Stiles, and you know it.” 

Stiles doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares up at Derek pacing back and forth, and tries to calm his heartbeat. He tries to think of something meaningful to say, tries to make Derek understand his fears, but in the end, he just offers Derek a smile. “You’re right,” he says, but his voice sounds all wrong. “I don’t want to. I want to get into Caltech,” he nods. 

The tension bleeds out of Derek’s shoulders, and he walks forward, pressing his lips against Stiles’ forehead. “You’re going to do great,” he whispers, before he leans down and kisses Stiles, long and hard, deep and meaningful. 

Stiles falls back against the bed. “Hey,” he pokes Derek in the side, but Derek keeps licking and nipping at his neck, distracted. “Hey,” he pokes him again, earning a light, playful growl. “Hey, you think maybe we could – you know – since you refused to last time,” he says, arching up against Derek when he bites down just right. 

The rumble of Derek’s chuckle floats over him pleasantly. “ _You know_? Stiles, you’re eighteen now, don’t you think we could stop with the code words for sex and just say _sex_.” 

Stiles tilts his head and glares at Derek. “Fine,” he says determinedly, “Derek, fuck me.” 

Derek’s eyes twinkle in the half-light of the moon, and Stiles swallows. “No problem,” he murmurs.

==

Stiles is floating pretty high by the next morning, pleasantly sore, relaxed, and happy. Derek glances over at him and rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he tells him, and Stiles grins wide.

“No, my friend, I am _happy_. Don’t try to tell me you aren’t, because then you would be lying, lying, lying.” Stiles pulls The Outline out. “What’s on the agenda for today, huh?” he asks, studying it. It’s pages are marked up in red ink, some things scribbled out, some things added in. Stiles sighs as he notices that today’s outline includes mostly driving. A lot of driving. They’ll stop at the last school before Caltech, and then they’ll be back on the road again. 

He glances over at Derek and gives him his best pout, looking up at him through his lashes. “Can we stop for donuts first?”

Derek studies him for a moment, before he reaches over and rests his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. “Yes,” he says simply, and finds the nearest donut shop, pulling in and ordering all of Stiles’ favorites. 

==

“I liked this one,” Stiles admits, studying the Positives and Negatives columns again, before glancing up at Derek. He, too, is studying the columns with a look of apprehension on his face, like he thinks Stiles might be irrational and just _choose_ this one before they get to Caltech. “It had a really great campus, it even has a program centered around the Sciences. Everyone I met has been really, really nice. The housing is excellent, the food is decent,” Stiles shrugs. “There’s not much to put in the Negatives column.”

Derek reads the list for a couple more seconds, before he pulls the red pen from his pocket and uncaps it, sticking the cap between his teeth as he writes in big block letters, in the negative column, _it’s not Caltech!_ and shoves the list back over to Stiles. Stiles frowns. “That was unnecessary,” he tells him, “You’re holding every college up to impossible standards. We have to be realistic, you know.”

Derek glares at him, and pulls the list forward again, writing, _Caltech is better_ right underneath the first line. Stiles huffs. “Yeah, alright, alright,” he holds his hands up in a defenseless pose, “I get it, it’s not Caltech, you are the Alpha, and I am just a lowly human being who goes to the school of your choosing.” He throws a cheesy grin in Derek’s direction before he takes off to the Jeep, laughing as Derek chases him the entire time. 

It’s not Caltech, but it’s the first school he’s felt really happy about, so maybe they’re getting closer. 

==

“ – And then I said, ‘no Scott, eating that bunny is not a good idea’ because you know, it was a _bunny,_ an innocent animal, and sure, Scott is kind of an animal too but –” Stiles is cut off by the sound of snoring. He glances over and frowns. “Derek,” he says flatly, and his only reply is another soft snore, and Derek’s head shifting to lean against the car window, arms crossed, body loose and relaxed the way he only sleeps when Stiles is nearby, like he knows safety is present. 

Stiles sighs. “Great,” he tells exactly no one, “Thanks for this, really. Thanks for leaving me in a quiet car, driving, with no one to talk to. I really appreciate it.”

Derek’s hand flings out and rests on Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles can’t help but smile a little. He keeps driving, towards their destination, towards _THE BIG DAY!!_ highlighted in all capital letters, underlined, and circled, on The Outline. Stiles is only a little bit nervous with Derek’s hand on his thigh and the sun rising in the distance, just beyond his reach. 

==

Stiles loves it.

He didn’t want to, but he really does love everything about Caltech, from their campus, to their programs, to their food and housing. He loves the atmosphere and the people and the way everyone automatically knows what he’s talking about when he starts talking ‘smart people’ like Scott always refers to it. He feels at home, the feeling he’s been searching for this entire trip.

He knocks his interview out of the fucking _ballpark,_ just like Derek said he would, and when he walks out, Derek is tapping away at his phone with an absolute shit-eating grin on his face. Stiles knows he heard every word, with his super-hearing, and Stiles doesn’t mind a bit. Derek wears a grin that’s a mixture of proud parent and proud boyfriend and just pure _pride_ in general, and Stiles grins at him. 

“Hey,” he greets him. “Ready?” Derek stands up, tucks his phone back in his pocket, and nods. Stiles thanks the lady behind him one more time before heading out with Derek’s hand wrapped gently around his wrist. 

“Let’s go for another walk around campus,” Stiles says to him, hopeful. 

Derek nods, a hidden smile curving his lips upwards as he leads the way. They’re maybe halfway across campus when Stiles speaks again. “I didn’t want to like it,” he admits, stopping and shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks up at Derek. Derek’s smile fades a little, so Stiles continues, “I didn’t want to like it because I didn’t want to have to come so far from home,” he tells him. “I wanted to find somewhere close to home that I’d absolutely fall in love with, and still be able to come home every weekend, you know? I wanted to be able to fight werewolves and go to college and have my – my boyfriend,” he breaks off, swallowing, glancing away. 

Derek reaches out and wraps a hand around his bicep, gesturing for him to continue. Stiles swallows again before he says, “But I love it. I really, really love it. Even though you drove me crazy this entire trip, you stuck to The Outline every step of the way, you refused to listen to good music –” 

Derek snorts here. 

“I love it. I love Caltech, and I want to go here,” he tells him. 

Derek’s eyes widen, and his hand tightens on Stiles’ arm for a moment, before he breathes out, “Really?”

Stiles nods.

“Stiles,” he murmurs, leaning in. He kisses his forehead; a rare form of public affection for them, and Stiles closes his eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t miss you?” he asks, and he sounds almost amused. 

Stiles shrugs. “You seemed pretty eager to get to Caltech,” he says quietly, “to get me to go here.”

“Because I want you to go somewhere you’re going to love!” Derek tells him, pushing against his shoulder a little, “I don’t want you to go to some stupid community college and regret it and me for the rest of your life, because you chose there to be near me. That’s not who you are, Stiles. That’s not who I am.”

It’s a lot of words for Derek, a lot of emotion, and it surprises Stiles a little how much his heart jumps at the confession, that Derek _just wanted what was best,_ that he possibly doesn’t want him to leave after all. “So you _don’t_ really want me this far away?” he asks, squinting, just to clarify. 

“Stiles, I’m going to miss you every single day you’re gone,” Derek tells him honestly, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you this far away if it means you get to become something really amazing.”

“I’m already something amazing with you,” Stiles says. 

They blink at each other for a moment before Stiles bursts out into laughter. Derek shakes his head. “You are not meant for cheesy lines,” he tells Stiles. 

“I’m not Ryan Gosling,” Stiles retorts, but he’s still laughing, and Derek’s chuckling a little, happy and relieved. 

“I’m going to come and visit all the time,” he tells Stiles, eyes deep and serious in that moment. Stiles thinks he looks sort of perfect with the afternoon sunlight shining on his face, the way his hair sways gently with the spring breeze, and the smile tugging at his lips. 

They’ve come a long way from when Stiles first met him, and he loves every second of it.

“Yeah,” he says, “Okay. Don’t come _all_ the time though; I’m gonna have a really busy social life. I might get sick of your face.”

Derek punches him in the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home,” he says. 

==

Stiles climbs into the Jeep and opens The Outline. “What’s the schedule for getting back?” he asks Derek. 

Derek shrugs. “Flip to the last page and see,” he says. 

Stiles stares at him curiously for a moment before he flips to the last page. “It’s blank,” he tells Derek, confused. Derek smirks, reaches out and turns on the stereo. 

‘Boys of Summer’ blasts through the speakers, and something skips in Stiles’ heart. “Take our time,” Derek says, reaching over and grasping Stiles’ hand. “That’s the schedule for getting back.”

Stiles throws The Outline in the backseat, a grin plastered across his face.

It’s pretty perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: my knowledge of the two schools that are mentioned are pretty much only what I looked up, because I am nowhere near in the vicinity of SFSU or Cal Tech. :)


End file.
